Scars and the Sweet Desert Embrace
by BrokeMachine
Summary: A new scar. A new memory. Take me into your embrace.


Trigun

Scars and the Sweet Desert Embrace

Length: Ficlet

Author: GemGem46

Warnings: Sorry to say it is not beta'd. A bit of violence and that's it.

Summary: A new scar. A new memory. Take me into your embrace.

Scars, scars, scars, everywhere…

They roam over his body, his story, individual stories all his… never told, but each one ready to talk as soon as his flesh is revealed to the naked eye; each one earning sharp gasps, as sharp as the pain that once tarnished it. His skin is forsaken, punished but he can't really say why. Why do these things happen to him? No matter what path he takes or what town he ends up in the story is the same and in many times ends the same. As fate seemed to show him he doesn't belong with them, he belongs to the gusty desert storms.

He's shaken and tossed, another fabric of his attire ripped away and another story yearning to tell is revealed. Shows of gasps and cries. Yells of anger and anguish. He sympathizes with them, with their fear. He's kicked in the gut but he doesn't reach for his gun nor does he attempt to block it. A second swing from the rubber toe hits him as easily as the night finds him.

Scars, scars, scars, all his, all for him to remember and the lonely quiet night helps him relive them. No alcohol to dry up his thoughts and no water to quench his living thirst. His new soars angrily pound under his skin, furious at his, though unwilling, acceptance to take such abuse to begin with. He lets his head fall back and he can see all the stars spread around three crescent moons. He whispers to them what he's always too afraid to say expecting a reaction but receives none. And he's relieved and angered all at once, at least enough to bring tears to his eyes.

Scars, scars, scars… all alloyed soul will eventually find their own. Good souls, bad souls, young souls… in this desert world… scars are unavoidable.

He wonders now how many did he leave behind on those poor people as he departed with no goodbyes, no farewells. With nothing as peaceful but the memory none the less had been marked in red.

A small, ominous tear strolls down his skin. The night had finally welcomed tranquility, but tranquility didn't come so easily to his heart. His arms cross over his chest holding what's left of him tightly together. He'd always been so sensitive, too sensitive and he can't stop himself as his eyes completely flood from keeping the tears from falling down one after another. Their temper tested under the quiet shaking of his battered body.

So many tears, so many lives, so many scars… how do they go on living? What makes them get up every morning? Why do they hurt others and then each other? What can be gained that is worth the same or more in what is lost?

He cries for them, for their loss and for their pain. Don't they see his tears? Don't they see he's sorry? He guesses it's plain to see that he, as he too believes, deserves it. No bullet shot from his own gun had ever killed anyone but the blood was on his hands just the same. It was his fault so many suffered. It was his fault so many fought for the little resource his existence had left behind in July… July… if only he could remember what exactly happened there. But would it be any use for those people who with tears and angered voices literally kicked his beaten body out off the seclusion of their small town. A new land away from July, away from danger, away from Vash the Stampede.

A whisper… a whisper of his name was all it took then it all started all over again. A new scar. A new memory. Cries of relief is what he remembers as he picked his body up off the dusty sand, his hands already sinking in to the planets hungry, dry clutches. Specks of sand caught on the blood on the side of his face. He could feel them crunch in between his teeth as he grits and swallows down the taste of metal past the knot in his throat.

"We should have killed him," a man said as he limps away, his head down. He fishes for his glasses and places them over the bloody nook on his nose; miraculous they survived the beating without a crack or a bend. If only his spirit can say the same.

"I would have if he hadn't saved us from those bank robbers just yesterday, I would have…" the man with the shaking pistol cries loudly with a failing bark. This wasn't easy, for anyone.

A blanket of sand harshly sways his direction. Lifted from the earth as if awaken by their ruckus. It moves in towards him and engulfs his entirety and like that he vanishes into its deadly grasp. The desert easily takes him into its embrace, with no fuss, no fear, no regret…

Review please and thanks for reading!


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